


(Pride) In The Name of Love

by coffeeandcas



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fluff, Gay Pride, M/M, One Shot, Parades, Police Officer Castiel (Supernatural), Pride, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-15
Updated: 2019-10-15
Packaged: 2020-12-16 21:48:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21043298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeeandcas/pseuds/coffeeandcas
Summary: At the annual Pride parade, Dean Winchester spots the single hottest guy he's ever seen in his life.





	(Pride) In The Name of Love

The heat of the day has long passed by now, the enthusiasm and joyous atmosphere ebbing away for a while as the parade-goers take a break to chill out, freshen up, take a power nap, or do whatever they need to do to recharge before the night’s festivities begin. The streets are littered with rainbow glitter, coloured streamers, discarded items of clothing, and empty plastic bottles which Sam Winchester eyes with distaste. He’s already picked up what feels like a hundred and deposited them into the nearest trashcan, but he gave up hours ago - mostly due to Dean’s consistent eye-rolling.

“Lighten up a little, Sammy!” His brother had slurred, throwing an arm around his neck and tugging him in close for a one-armed hug. Sam’s nose had wrinkled; Dean smelled of hours-old sweat, sticky-sweet candy and cheap cologne. “The cleanup crew will get it all. That carbon footprint of yours is as perfect as it’s always been.”

Sam had shaken himself free with his own skyward look, the expression of the long-suffering, and had patiently followed Dean as he’d snaked his way through the crowd, greeting friends and colleagues, and hitting up every beer stall he finds. The sun feels hotter now than it has in recent weeks, and Dean’s skin is turning that pinkish-brown that means he didn’t put on enough sunscreen this morning. The lecture about skin cancer can probably wait until tomorrow - he’s not _that_ much of a buzzkill. Not always.

If he’s honest, he’s pretty beat by now and hitting up a burger joint and heading home sounds pretty good. They’ve not managed to find any of their friends in the crowd, and Sam’s long past that merry buzz he had going on earlier from one beer too many, and now he feels hot, sticky and gross and would give anything for a cool shower and a change of clothes that isn’t covered in every type of glitter under the sun. But Dean, up ahead, shows no signs of slowing down.

Every Pride parade starts out the same for the both of them. They both linger on the fringes, drinking beer at listening to music, watching the performers, just hanging out. Then Dean has a couple beers, then a couple more, then soon they’re walking among the crowd, laughing and joking and Dean usually attracts a few hot, older guys who cling to him for a while and try to draw him close so they can dance or make out or whatever they want to do. Dean is polite, charming, but dismisses them with disinterest. He isn’t here to hook up, he’s here to have fun, and Sam is always thankful he isn’t left standing alone while Dean amuses himself with a stranger. Not that Dean hasn’t had his fair share of one night stands - he definitely _has_, and hasn’t always cleared up the evidence which still makes Sam want to bleach his eyeballs - but when they’re out together Dean has always been resolute about not taking off and leaving his friends for a guy. At least, most of the time.

But then they drink, and drink a little more, and as Dean gets progressively more drunk his inhibitions drop to next to nothing and his confidence soars. Then, every time, it ends the same way: with him draped over a stranger, shirtless, covered in glitter and body paint and having the time of his life. He never forgets Sam though, always checking to make sure his brother is okay and not being left out of conversations or impromptu dance parties (no matter how much Sam _wants_ to be left out of those) or that they’ve met up with Charlie and Jo, or Benny and Gabriel before he goes off to have a little fun on his own, coming back with lipstick kisses on his skin and smelling of six different brands of cologne, a light-up-the-world grin on his face and eyes sparkling like jewels. He always looks so happy at Pride, so at home and at peace with himself, and that’s the sole reason Sam goes along with him. Sure it’s fun, and it’s always good to show his support to the local LGBT community, but at the end of the day all Sam cares about in this scenario is Dean’s happiness. And seeing it makes him happy by proxy.

They weave their way through the dissipating crowd, the sun sinking slowly behind a Gas-n-Sip until everything glows orange and the shadows grow long and slender, the chatter among them dying to a low murmur, and Sam wonders if he can slip off home soon, if he can borrow Dean’s phone to call Charlie then he wouldn’t need to feel bad about taking off and leaving Dean to fend for himself.

Then, Dean stops dead, gaze fixed on a point a little further down the street, and Sam almost walks straight into him.

“Dean, what the-”

Then, following his brother’s slightly glazed eyes, he sees what made Dean come to an immediate halt and stifles a smirk behind his hand. Not what, but rather _who._

Dean hasn’t been out for very long, not publicly at least. For years, only Sam and their closest friends Jo and Charlie knew the Dean wasn’t as into girls as he pretended to be; that the entire ladies’ man demeanour was him desperately trying to overcompensate for the fact that he wasn’t comfortable in his own skin and thought that there was something wrong with him for the way he felt. He’s always been a strong, confident guy, for as long as Sam can remember, and somewhere along the line had got it into his head that he couldn’t be the person he was while liking men. It had taken months of self-analysis, interspersed with fits of anger and emotion, for Dean to come to terms with himself and now that he has done it seems he wants the whole world to know. And the annual Pride parade has quickly become his favourite day of the year.

They’d had some rough times growing up. Nights spent alone in motel rooms while their dad worked long shifts, evenings with nothing to eat but Spaghetti-Os or Captain Crunch, Christmas mornings with no presents to open. But through all of the uncertainty of their childhoods, Dean had been the one constant in Sam’s life. So in later life, when Dean was all pent-up rage and self-hatred and throwing empty beer bottles at the walls or calling for bail money _yet again_, Sam put up with it all without comment or complaint. Because Dean had been there for him through the dark times, and he’d earned Sam’s unconditional company and acceptance during his own bad moments.

Now, Sam’s having flashbacks to their first apartment, a crummy studio with two single beds that wound up decorated like a frat dorm room - Sam’s poster of Stanford Law above his bed while Dean decorated his side of the wall with posters of firefighters, police officers, and strapping men in military uniform who stared Sam down as though challenging his every move. Some nights, he couldn’t sleep because he felt like they were staring at him. Or, he freaked himself out by imagining Dean looking at those images in an entirely different way and…

“Sam Winchester, where the hell have you been?!” Jo’s voice breaks thankfully into his reverie and he envelops her in a hug, elbowing Dean aside. She hugs him back then thumps him in the chest when she pulls away. “We were supposed to meet hours ago, I’ve been calling and calling you both!”

He holds up his cell phone in one hand, and holds his other with palm outward in a ‘not my fault’ gesture. “No bars, sorry. Everyone must be on their phones today.”

“That or you’re on the crappiest network known to man.” She shakes her head at his ancient handset, her blonde hair tumbling into her eyes and she pushes it back with a grin. “Where’s Eileen? I thought she was coming?”

“She got pulled into a double shift, two nurses called in sick. On Pride.” He shakes his head wryly. “They’re probably working up to their hangovers right now.”

“That sucks,” she links her arm with his. “What’s up with Dean? He’s going to put his neck out if he carries on like that.”

Once again, Sam follows Dean’s gaze over the heads of the crowd, and is absolutely in no doubt about the person his brother is so instantly entranced by. And by Jo’s sudden huff of laughter beside him, neither is she.

There’s a cop standing with his arms folded, eyes hidden behind aviator shades, stopping people from crossing the street while a garbage truck goes by. He’s tall, tanned, with thick-set biceps and thighs, and there’s a smear of turquoise glitter down one cheek, catching the sunlight as he moves. He looks like Dean’s dream guy made real, and even Sam has to admit the guy is pretty good-looking. Beside him, Jo whistles lowly and nudges Dean in the back.

“Damn, have you _seen_ that guy? How is he even real?”

“He’s a cop, Jo. He’s probably an asshole.” Dean doesn’t turn to speak to her, doesn’t even tear his eyes away from the guy long enough to say hello. “Hi, by the way.”

She passes a hand in front of his eyes and giggles when he bats her away. “You’ve got it bad. Go talk to him!”

That gets Dean’s attention and he turns to stare at her in incredulity.

“Woman, have you lost your mind? He probably has some equally stupid-hot husband lurking somewhere. Besides,” he laughs in a way that sounds a little too self-deprecating. “I’m way out of his league. He should be so lucky.”

“Uh huh.” Jo doesn’t buy it for one moment and leans into Sam, quirking an eyebrow at the elder Winchester. “So if he happened to be totally staring at you right now, you wouldn’t look twice?”

“What?” Dean’s head whips back around in the direction of the cop so quickly he risks whiplash, and Jo cracks up laughing.

“Made you look, Winchester. But you’re not as cool as you think. So you think he’s cute, go talk to him! What’s the worst that could happen?”

“He could hear me!” Dean hisses, but there’s a quirk of a smile playing at his lips.

He has rainbow glitter on both cheekbones and in his hair, which will probably be found all over their apartment in the months to come, and the words ‘Love Is Love’ that he’s so painstakingly painted onto his left pec have smudged a little, sweat lines trickling through both the Ls. His shorts are a little too short and tight for Sam’s taste but hey, he isn’t the one wearing them. Dean has his shirt tucked into the back of his shorts, tugging them down a little so a stripe of CK-branded boxer-briefs is just visible. Sam is pretty certain that if his brother did decide to go up to the cop and say hi or flirt a little that he would be far from ignored.

Blocking out Dean’s slightly wild detractions as Jo continues to needle him, he checks out the cop again over his brother’s shoulder. The guy is smiling demurely at a girl who is posing next to him, holding up her phone for a selfie, before encouraging her back onto the sidewalk and safely behind a barrier as another truck passes by. The roads have been opened again for a few hours and cars are starting to drive past, weaving their way between rainbow flags and placards and people taking photos and dancing and embracing. The cop says something into his radio, then turns to look over his shoulder as though he senses someone’s eyes on him and Sam looks away quickly. Damn aviators, he can’t tell if his snooping was observed or not. He needs to invest in some of his own.

“_Sam_ doesn’t think I should go off and hook up with some cop, do you Sammy?” Dean tugs his own arm through Sam’s, pulling him away from Jo and smirking boldly. “_He_ thinks we should go get burgers and shakes and head home, right?” An elbow digs sharply into his ribs. “_Right?_”

“Right.” Sam turns to him, tucking a strand of hair behind his own ear, fingers coming away streaked with paint he didn’t even know was there. “Burgers and shakes sound pretty good right now, Dean.” He ignores the blink of surprise that crosses his brother’s face, soon replaced with a triumphant grin. “But, I don’t know… I’m kinda having fun here. I don’t think I’m ready to head home yet. We just found Jo…”

“And Charlie’s over there!” Jo points enthusiastically over their shoulders, right in the direction of the cop. “And Ash has been looking for you guys forever. He’ll be so mad if you don’t go and say hi. _So_ mad.”

“So mad,” Sam echoes. “We can’t let our friends down, right Dean? Not on Pride weekend?”

“C’mon, Sammy.” Dean’s wheedling now, his voice taking on an irritating falsetto that sets Sam’s teeth on edge. “I’ll buy you a nice salad at Olive Garden. Look, there’s one right there. And a water. Whatever size you like. We’ve had a great time, no sense in spoiling it by staying out too long, huh?”

“What is it, Winchester? Afraid of getting shot down?” Jo is smirking at him, arms folded across her chest and eyes sparkling with mirth. She’s in a white shift dress with rainbow tassels at the hem, and her eyes are heavily made up. Her long blonde hair cascades in ringlets and she tosses it back confidently, pushing between the pair of them and throwing a ‘Come on, boys!’ over her shoulder as she goes.

Smirking at his brother and shrugging in a helpless fashion, Sam links arms with Jo and, laughing together at Dean’s grumbling and grousing that follows them close behind, begin to pick their way through the remainder of the crowd. The early evening sun is warm on his skin, and they cross the street to where the cop with the aviators and the deep summer tan is standing directing the crowd. Charlie’s red hair stands out, bouncing as she waves enthusiastically at them, and he’s sure he can see Benny in a leather vest, matching pants and not much else. For the hundredth time, he wonders why Dean and Benny aren’t still together. They’d seemed like such a great couple, but at the very least they’ve managed to remain friends somehow which he supposes counts for something. Sometimes he wonders if Dean still pines after Benny; he catches him staring at him sometimes with an odd, faraway look in his eyes.

But now, glancing back at Dean, he sees that his brother’s eyes are focused entirely on someone other than his ex. The cop has turned their way and is waving at them to get off the road with furrowed brows. With a spark of glee, Sam pulls Dean’s arm and shoves him bodily towards the sidewalk - and right into the path of the cop.

* 

This guy - this _guy - _has to be the single hottest person Dean’s ever seen in his life. And that includes Doctor Sexy, plus all the men in uniform he’d lusted after in his late teens. He’s like all of them combined, rolled up together into the dreamiest person to ever walk the face of the earth.

Okay, Dean might be a little drunk. But it’s true, the cop is extremely attractive and has thighs to die for but he, Sam and Jo are walking entirely in the wrong direction. And by wrong direction, he means straight towards the guy who he’s sure caught him gazing, starry-eyed at him earlier. Damn shades, hiding his eyes far too well. They should be going in the other direction, far, far away so he can’t make a damn fool out of himself in front of everyone by getting shot down at Pride. Nobody gets shot down at Pride, not in his experience. He would be the first. He’s about to turn and just waltz off on his own, find his own little party to go to, and catch up with Sam later, when the decision is abruptly taken from him. The cop is gesturing at them to move towards the sidewalk and, for some unknown reason, Sam decides that Dean needs a little help interpreting that message. Before Dean can react or pull away, Sam is grabbing his arm and shoving him directly towards the cop and suddenly he’s right there, right in front of him, and Dean’s mouth has run utterly dry.

He doesn’t usually have a problem talking to guys, not under the right circumstances. And this should be the right circumstance. A wink, a nudge, a careful smile like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth, and anybody is his, usually. He’s certainly had his fair share of attention over the years, even the odd boyfriend or two. Benny was and still is the only guy he ever got serious with, and that ended in such painful heartache that he hasn’t really been able to let anyone close since. They’d loved each other fiercely, but even that hadn’t been enough to keep them together in the end and the result is that while Dean is happy to go on a few dates or have a few nights of dirty sex with the same guy on the regular, it never goes further than that. He’s never needed or wanted it to. He’s always been able to have his fun then move on and meet a new guy whenever the mood takes him. All it takes is a little dose of traditional Winchester charm and he can score a date with anyone.

But right now, right at this moment, he can’t think of a single thing to say nor can he make his face do anything but gape at the man in front of him. All his charm has bled away to nothing. The Dean Winchester who can pick up anyone seems to have gone somewhere and in his place is this stuttering, nervous wreck. Awesome.

And, sunglasses or not, he knows the cutest guy in the world is staring directly at him.

“Sir, could you move off the street, please?” Even his _voice_ is sexy. “There are cars making their way down here now. You wouldn’t want to get hurt now, would you?”

It sounds like he wanted to say _I wouldn’t want you to get hurt,_ or maybe Dean’s now so drunk that he’s hallucinating. But he hasn’t had _that_ many beers, and only one shot of tequila. He manages to make his feet move and manages to get to the sidewalk without assistance. Turning, he curses under his breath at the realisation that he’s entirely alone now, that Sam and Jo have abandoned him and bolted off into the crowd in search of other friends. He’s on his own, just him and the cop, and the few hundred people milling around them.

“Have you lost your friends?” The cop is looking at him still, arms folded and forearms looking like solid cords muscle, and there’s a definite upward turn to his lips now.

“Yeah, uh, I guess.” Smooth, Winchester, real smooth. Way to make a good first impression.

“That’s a shame.” He sounds like it couldn’t be less of a shame. The guy gestures at the smudged body paint and glitter on Dean’s skin. “It appears that you’ve had a good time?”

“Oh yeah, it’s been a blast.” Words, Winchester, come on. “Have you had fun?” _Lame!_

“Absolutely. Everyone seems to be enjoying themselves and behaving,” the cop smiles. “What more can I ask for?”

“Maybe a date with a cute guy?” Something loosens Dean’s tongue - probably that heavenly smile - and the words slip out without his consent. The cop freezes for a moment, but then his smile softens into something less blinding and something a lot more genuine.

“Does something about me suggest that’s what I might be looking for?” His tone is teasing and Dean relaxes infinitely, leaning an arm against the railings and moving a little closer to the cop.

“I’m not sure. Those shades are kinda hiding everything that might help me work it out. Would you mind?” He mimes pushing sunglasses up onto his head and the cop laughs, obliging. Then Dean’s looking right at him, right into his eyes, and swears he forgets to breathe for a second. The guy has blue eyes, perfect, ocean blue eyes and it feels like he’s staring straight into Dean’s soul.

“Does that help?”

“Kinda, yeah.” He feels breathless, like all the people around them just don’t exist any more, have melted away, and it’s just the two of them standing here, with all the time in the world.

“So what do you think? Would securing a date with a cute guy be the only thing that could make my day better?” That smile is back, the blinding one with dimples. “Because I can think of something else, too.”

“What’s that?”

Dean’s mouth is dry. He’s sure he’s never felt attraction this strong before, not in his entire life. It’s as though the air between them is sizzling, crackling with static, and he _really_ hopes that it isn’t just his wishful thinking and that the cop feels it too. The guy has taken a step forward so now there’s barely a foot between them, and Dean can smell his cologne. He has fine lines around his eyes, full lips that look deliciously kissable, and a deep tan that speaks of long hours spent outside. And those _thighs. _Dean could have a lot of intensely enjoyable dreams about those thighs.

One of them leans a little closer, he isn’t sure who. Time seems to slow down.

“Your name.”

It’s said in a low, gravelly tone that makes Dean’s flesh goose and the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. He licks his dry lips, dropping his gaze to the cop’s mouth, wondering what it would be like to kiss him right here, right now, on the street in the middle of Pride.

“Dean. Winchester. Dean Winchester.”

“Well, Dean Winchester, it’s nice to meet you.” The cop reaches for Dean’s hand, takes it in his own, and shakes it slowly. “I’m very glad you’ve had such a good time today.”

“Yeah, I’m, uh, glad to meet you too.” Neutrons misfire as Dean mixes up his sentences, internally rolling his eyes at himself for being so utterly uncool. “Thanks for, you know, keeping us all safe. Thanks for that.”

“It’s no problem at all.” The cop releases his hand and smiles. “I think your friends must have realised you’re lost. I believe they’re looking for you.”

“Huh?” Dopily, Dean turns to see Charlie on her tiptoes, waving wildly at him and calling his name so loud it can be heard above everyone else’s conversations around them. In truth, he’d almost forgotten that they weren’t alone. “Oh. Shit, yeah. I should probably…” He jerks a thumb over his shoulder and the cop nods, still smiling at him in a way that makes Dean feel like he’s both floating and falling simultaneously.

“Of course. Go and find your friends, Dean Winchester. Maybe we can catch up later.”

“Yeah, uh, maybe. That would be pretty cool.”

He’s in the middle of plucking up the courage to ask for the guy’s name in exchange for his own, and maybe his number if he’s feeling lucky, but an arm slides around his waist and a bundle of red-haired excitement thrusts itself into his personal space. He gets a face full of coconut-scented hair, and when he reemerges from Charlie’s hug the cop has melted away and is talking to a group of girls with space buns and glitter makeup a short distance away.

As he allows himself to be dragged away into the crowd, he swears the cop turns and shoots him a smile over his shoulder. Their eyes meet for just second. But then someone pushes past him and the moment is lost. But some small part of him knows this isn’t over. That he’ll see that cop again.

Hell, he’s even contemplating breaking every speed limit in town in the hope of summoning him. When he turns back again to search for the cop, he’s gone, and the crowd is thickening again as the evening party-goers begin to filter out into the streets.


End file.
